


Lost paths

by likingthistoomuch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3738880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likingthistoomuch/pseuds/likingthistoomuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlolly AU, where Sherlock is a Hollywood movie star, Molly is the Inn keeper and the movie is made in Scotland. Off season rates apply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“And that’s a wrap!”

The audience was clearly divided. One group that was whooping and cheering, the visitors. And the silent, wistful smiles of the locals.

After all it wasn’t everyday that a major Hollywood production unit moved to your small Scottish village and took it over for two months.

* * *

 

“Its been a pleasure Molly. And I apologise for any untoward behavior-”

Molly cut John by kissing him on his cheek, “No apologies needed John. It’s good to have tough customers once in a while, keeps us on our toes.”

John grinned and hugged her tightly.

“I hope you’ve done with goodbyes John, we _are_ leaving in five.”

The haughty tones of Sherlock’s voice interrupted the moment.

John gave Molly an apologetic look, narrowed his eyes at Sherlock and moved out of the inn.

Molly chuckled and returned to arranging the keys back onto their pegs on the wall behind her.

Sensing someone, she turned to find Sherlock standing near her, looking at her with an indecipherable expression. No, he looked unsure, and a tad bit uncomfortable.

“If you…travel…” he cleared his throat.

Words suddenly seemed difficult for him. _Him_.

He grabbed her hand, slapped a card and covered her fingers over it, dropped her hand, got his usual haughty look and swept out of the room.

Molly was left blinking. The obviously expensive piece of stationary simply stated his name and a mobile number.

He had left a link behind!

 

* * *

 

 

“Molly…Molly. Wake up…Molly, wake up!!”

Molly groggily rolled onto her back, but her eyes refused to heed to the ‘open’ command.

“Molly, have you seen the papers? They are going to shoot a movie near our village. _Our_ village. Oh, of all the things in my time of life!!......Wake up lassie!!”

“Mrs Hudson, are they shooting the movie today?”

“No girl! Mid March.”

“Then wake me up when its Feb end.”

“It’s got your favourite actor, tall bloke, curly hair; he starred in that recent movie you don’t shut up about.”

That got Molly’s attention. Finally able to pry her eyelids apart, she peered at her elderly housekeeper. Mrs Hudson was sharper than she was given credit for.

Wiping off the drool from her chin, she tried to put two thoughts together.

“Tom Hiddleston is going to shoot in Glenrowle, of all the places?”

“Tom Hid…no, Sherlock Holmes! Wasn’t he the star-”

“Don’t care much for him.  I watched the movie for the villain, not the hero! Definitely wake me when it’s mid Feb….no, make that Feb end.” Molly rolled over and fell asleep immediately. The journey from London had been exhausting and no way was she getting up to celebrate the arrival of a haughty, ill-tempered movie star in her village. If only it were Tom……

But celebrate she did, when she saw the numbers her calculator threw up. Oh, she would do a welcome jig for Sherlock Holmes, if it meant a full occupancy in an otherwise lean season.

She almost had second thoughts though, when the actor’s support team descended on her inn, to check out the accommodation and other facilities. A special fridge was installed to separately store the organic food ingredients that Sherlock’s personal chef would use. They put in special blowers and fans to improve the air circulation in all the rooms. The mattress was replaced. She was also moved from her personal room to the tiniest room she had, to accommodate the hair and makeup people. But she stood her ground about the colour of her rooms; she loved the pale yellow walls. (She did acknowledge that she got the easy end of the stick; Mrs Hardy was hosting the lead actress and she had to replace the old tub that her late husband had fit in the bathroom, God bless his soul!)

It was no fun being at the receiving end of the actor’s team, but the blow was softened by Sherlock’s manager, John Watson. The man had enough charm to sell her green grass! He also had Mrs Hudson blushing like a young girl and squawking around him like a mother hen, at the same time.

Soon the technical teams started moving in, followed by the actors. Shooting had already started, involving the support cast, who proved to be pretty easy going people. Molly was part of the crowd who watched the initial days of shooting, but soon got bored. It was monotonous and same scenes were being shot again and again. Film making was definitely not as glamorous and exciting as she had perceived.

The day before Sherlock arrived, his chef, personal trainer, makeup artist and manager came and settled into the Glenrowle Inn. They were taking over her home and sending out orders right, left and centre. She started dreading the moment the actor himself arrived. His reputation for being difficult and having a sharp tongue preceded him.

It was a pristine white Range Rover Evoque (of course it was) that screeched to halt on her driveway, narrowly missing the flowerbeds. Sherlock Holmes got out of the car, threw the keys to a waiting John and sauntered into the lobby. He was very handsome, tall, though not as tall as he looked in the movies. His hair was longish, curly and black. And he had the most amazing blue-green eyes.

Now only if there was some warmth there.

Nodding curtly at Molly and Mrs Hudson, he followed John to his room. John had assured Molly that they had made the most with what her inn offered and they had no complaints. But she had a feeling that she would be hearing more from the actor, and not compliments either.

Molly was at the front desk, reading the papers. She would’ve been going thru the list of items in the kitchen or store room or managing the numbers, but since everything was looked after by Sherlock’s team, she had time on her hands.

Hands slammed on the wood, making her jump.

“The least you could do is make sure those bloody windows are actually closed when you close them.”

“What? What windo-”

“Lovely attention to detail. I thought that with a small property to manage, things would run _relatively_ smooth. Aaah, the wakeup call of reality!” the sarcastic tones were grating on Molly’s nerves.

It had been a week that the lead stars had come in and shooting was in full flow. She had seen Sherlock only when he left or arrived at the Inn. He did not interact at all with them, preferring to get things done through John.

And she had no complaints against that arrangement.

“Mr Holmes, John has never said anythi-”

“Look at the window and have the draught problem resolved by evening, I am sure you can squeeze in some time in your otherwise _very_ busy schedule.”

He turned, walked out to his car, leaving a stunned Molly still trying to process what had happened.

Oh would she resolve the draught issue before that evening!!

And when the errant factor made itself obvious, she couldn’t feel more vindicated.

“It’s your blower system causing the draught! The windows are fine. I don’t know how that system functions, so may-”

“Don’t care. And I don’t like company when I am eating. Shut the door on your way out.”

Molly almost jumped when the deep voice spoke from the high chair facing the window. She had been talking to John in the room the team used as a common area and hadn’t seen Sherlock sitting nearby.

“Sherlock!” John admonished.

Molly gaped at the chair’s back, her mouth open.

“Wow he really is rude!! His PR team must be real gems. He is lucky to have you John, you-”

“I _am_ still in the room,” Sherlock interrupted.

“Mrs Hudson has made her special Sheppard’s pie for her friends. I was wondering if you would want to have some?” she ignored Sherlock’s jab and extended the invitation to John.

She left as John heartily agreed to join her for dinner, smug in the knowledge that at least a some of them were going to have an amazing meal, not restricted to boiled vegetables and grains she had not even heard of.

John took further care to ensure that Sherlock did not antagonize his host any more. He knew how it could all blow out of proportion, having handled quite a few situations and soothed more than a few frayed nerves, thank you very much.

So it was a surprise when Molly saw Mrs Hudson get out of the Range Rover a few days later, been given a lift by Sherlock on his way back from the shoot. He gave her a fond smile as she kissed him on his cheeks and went inside the inn, leaving a stunned Molly staring at the actor, who simply ignored her and went to his rooms.

Their interaction continued in a similar vein till one evening, after heavy rains, Molly found Sherlock in his car, stuck in a ditch. The powerful vehicle was proving ineffective against the sticky mud. She passed the car just as he was about to open the door and wade through the mulch, when she cried out, “I wouldn’t do that. Sit inside, I will send help”.

It took farmer Maloney three attempts before his sturdy tractor pulled the car out. Seemed that Sherlock had swerved to avoid running over a rabbit and eventually slipped into the ditch. Seemingly unhurt, though she did not include his pride, the actor drove his undamaged but totally muddy vehicle to the village garage to get cleaned, and was left to walk to the inn.

That warranted interaction with the locals. And visiting fans. And autograph hunters. And photographs. John walked with him, like a shadow, ensuring that the actor’s infamous temper was kept at bay. Molly observed from afar the increasing tightness to Sherlock’s mouth and giggled a bit. His glare landed on her as she did so and his lips thinned even more, if that was possible. Her mirth seemed to bubble over and she turned away to walk home, laughing openly.

“You must either be too bored in this little place, to find a troubled man funny. Or maybe your little mind does not have the capacity to process what is, in fact, a total invasion of privacy and personal space!”

It was one of those evenings when the weather was just cool (or warm) enough to warrant a drink out under the stars. With a cup of steaming hot coffee in her hand, Molly sat with Mrs Hudson in their backyard, joined by John and Mary, who managed Sherlock’s hair amongst things. Molly found the blonde to be vivacious, witty and extremely likeable.

It was Sherlock’s tirade that disturbed the peaceful evening.

“Sherlock!” both Mary and John gasped.

“What?” Molly frowned up at the actor, half turning in her chair.

“John, you _have_ to negotiate a change in schedule. I need to get out of this godforsaken place and at least spend some time in Edinburgh, if not London. Get me out of here!” He huffed, his voice rising as he finished venting.

“You’re amazing Mr Holmes. One interaction, _one,_ with people who admire you, or atleast your persona, and its making you run…to places where you would meet even more of them!” Molly shook her head unbelievably.

He narrowed his eyes and gave her a look over. Molly bristled at his action but he seemed unaffected by her displeasure.

“You’re not a local, your accent itself is enough to tell anyone that. But you carry yourself with a straight back, that says that you are used to having responsibilities and fulfilling them. Only child, orphaned. So the pseudo family around you and the _need_ to keep them around and happy. You are meticulous in your activities, following procedures to the T, and showing dedication. All pointing to a job of responsibility held not too long ago.”

“Sherlock-”

He ignored John and carried on.

“Your clothes, your language, the way you speak, the ease with which you interact with the production team shows that the job you held meant interaction with people in places of…high responsibility. Your accent suggests London, the cuts on your hands, old scars, suggest working with instruments. You are obviously intelligent, empathizing with people around. You worked as a doctor, a surgeon. The high intensity of the job finally got to you, along with the broken engagement. You were wearing a ring, now you fiddle at its place unconsciously, as you are doing right now. The fiancé broke it off, left you heartbroken and too tired to deal with the fast pace of city life. So this inn. A refuge. A last remaining, thread to sanity.”

Sherlock paused and moved a step closer to Molly, who had frozen at his words.

“A woman, herself finding refuge, hiding in the middle of nowhere, is hardly the right person to tell _me_ off for staying away from people.”

His voice had been low, almost a whisper, but the viciousness of his words was not lost on anyone.

There it was, finally. The legendary prowess of Sherlock Holmes. The factor that made him such a phenomenal actor. His powers of observation. There were a more than a few articles floating around the internet about it. But watching it in person was breathtakingly terrifying.

And being at the receiving end was totally horrifying.

He smirked at Molly and was about to turn away, when her words stopped him.

He had half expected her to start crying, so had John and Mary, as seen from their faces. So it was his turn to be surprised when her steady voice addressed him.

“That was a great display, but mean, Sherlock Holmes.  Your legend precedes you, but to be on the receiving end is horrible. And a few corrections. Not a surgeon, but a pathologist. And a very good one, preferred by Scotland Yard’s best. I helped with murders and arson attacks and have helped put more than a few criminals behind bars. Yes, I have seen the underbelly of the world Mr Holmes, and its effects. Also, my fiancé didn’t break it off, he died. Helmand district. He was an army doctor. And no, not hiding away Mr Holmes, but fulfilling his last wishes. We bought this inn from Mrs Hudson before his last tour, we retained her as a housekeeper. Both of us being orphans, we liked a motherly figure around us.”

She moved a step closer, her words steady as her gaze.

“I don’t hide or seek refuge in places, Mr Holmes. I found solace and support amongst people I care for, and in the memory of those whom I loved and lost. I am at peace, Mr Holmes, can’t say the same about you.”

She moved inside, leaving behind the stunned actor who had been thrown off his high horse in front of an audience.

Mrs Hudson was the next to move inside, muttering “I can see why she fancies Tom Hiddleston” under her breath. 

“If I wasn’t with you Mary, I would have kissed the life out of Molly right now!” John said out.

“Me too John, me too.” Mary grinned at John, raised her brows at an affronted Sherlock and went inside.

 The next morning a visibly uncomfortable Sherlock, approached Molly before leaving for the set. He hid his hands in his jacket pockets and shifted uncomfortably looking anywhere but at the former pathologist.

“Uh….about last night,…I…it was…I mean… _I_ was out of line. As John frequently reminds me, my words would lead to my murder one of these days-”

“In that case, I will surely lend the NSY a helping hand in finding the perpetrator, Mr Holmes.” Molly had a smile on her face. “Your death will be avenged,” she whispered conspiratorially.

Her anger at being publicly confronted had disappeared when she had done talking last night. She saw that the proud and haughty demeanour was just a front for a lonely man. And she didn’t have the heart to hold it against him.

Life was too short, as she painfully knew.

 

 

* * *

 

Things improved marginally between them since ‘the outburst’, as they called it. As in, he nodded at her when leaving for the set, instead of ignoring her as he used to do earlier, though his interactions with Mrs Hudson improved by leaps and bounds.

Molly smiled as she thought of this. Mrs Hudson had that effect on people.

Then came Easter. It was a holiday for the movie team, who had been shooting non stop in all weather. And the weather gods actually smiled down on them, presenting them with a sunny day. The annual feast the village hosted was in full attendance, with the visitors mingling freely. For once, Sherlock and the other members of the cast were much more approachable which surprisingly made it easier for them to move about later in the day, without getting mobbed.

Then the dances started and the cast joined in, Sherlock included. He did look affronted when asked by one of the ladies, but had no support from John to avoid it. It drew the biggest roar and encouraged the others to join in as well. The event ended, with the group walking home happy but bone tired. Mrs Hudson, of course, travelled with Sherlock in his car.

The next morning, Molly was up at dawn and set out to fetch eggs for them all (except Sherlock; only organic for him, you see!).

She was surprised to see the said man, holding a bag in his hand and standing at the road end of the lane leading to her inn.

“Good morning, Mr Holmes. You’re an early bird today! Doubt if any worms are awake though!”

He frowned slightly at her poor joke, which made her chuckle.

“Sherlock.”

“Sorry?”

“Sherlock. Mr Holmes is my older brother…too early in the day to be reminded of him.”

She grinned. “Ok, _Sherlock_ , where are you off to this early?”

“This man lend me his wellies before the feast. For the life of me, I can’t remember where he said his place is.”

“Name?”

“John Smythe.”

“You are in luck. Fancy a walk? I will pass his home on my way, you can come along. But be prepared to get some mud on those fancy jeans of yours. I prefer short cuts.”

“After you.”

She was a bit surprised at the ease with which they conversed. He asked her about her time as a pathologist, she asked him about his movies. Life as a Hollywood star wasn’t all that was made to be, with the long hours, killer competition and bane of the stars, social media.

She spoke of her work, detailing the case where she met her fiancé, how they bonded over morbid jokes and their shared interest in medical mysteries.

She was able to talk about Tom, the familiar feeling of heaviness in her heart having reduced with time. It had been two long and tough years and she had worked hard to live with a smile, the way they had promised each other before his tours.

Sherlock was reticent about his personal life, and she didn’t probe him. They reached the Smythe residence and Molly turned to say bye. She was surprised to see Sherlock already running to the house, handing over the shoes and running back.

“I am contractually not allowed to eat local food, but I can definitely fetch it.” He gave her a boyish grin, his blue green eyes lighting up, the first open smile he gave her. And she suddenly saw why he was so popular, the charm flowing when he was relaxed.

They spoke more, easy rapport making the distance disappear. Though he became quieter as they walked towards the Inn.

“You are a good listener…I only hope that what I shared doesn’t appear in any rag in a few days.”

She was shocked into silence, not knowing if she should be insulted or if he was joking.

But he was serious, dead serious. “Once bitten, always shy, Molly,” he shrugged at the look on her face.

“Sherlock, you didn’t tell me anything that was a secret or that I hadn’t guessed. Do you want me to sign a paper where it says I will keep my trap shut?”

Trust. His main issue. The main reason for his loneliness.

She realized it now, could see it, also understand his point of view; but that didn’t make it any less insulting.

“Sherlock, I have battled loneliness alone, with no support, till Mrs Hudson took me in. You have John, Mary, you have your family. Don’t isolate yourself. I don’t know and I don’t _want_ to know what happened to make you this way, but you are lonely because you refuse to let them in. Hold the people dear to you close, you never know when they might just disappear." 

Suddenly the enjoyable walk became stifling, so she excused herself and took off in another direction, before tuning around and adding,"You may not even get to say goodbye.”

She didn’t see his sad face, even though he was glad and relieved that she could actually see _him_ and not the movie star persona he wore like a second skin.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I had full intention of completing this story in two chapters, but couldnt do justice. Please bear for an additional chapter before I finish this saga!!

The next schedule of the shoot was at night. They rarely got to see Sherlock, except when he zombie walked to his rooms, or while he was rushing to the set. Molly was also busy, preparing for the tourist season to come as well as helping with the renovations on Mrs Garth's house. The septuagenarian was Mrs Hudson's bestie and her house was badly in need of a paint job, something Molly volunteered to do.

Time flew till it was the day the final scene was to be canned. The entire village had thrown a feast for the crew, as a way of saying thank you. It was a potluck, with Mrs Hudson's Sheppard's pie in high demand. And since the principal photography was over, Sherlock was allowed to taste the food the other normal mortals consumed.

It resembled a huge open air party, with the revelers finally relaxing and letting their hair down. The cast and crew ate and joked with the locals, their camaraderie visible. And things got even more fun when the dance floor opened.

Molly wouldn't have guessed for all she was worth that John Watson would set the dance floor on fire. He danced with them all, twirled Mrs Hudson around, who in turn showed that she wasn't going to hang up her dancing shoes anytime soon. He danced with Molly, his exuberance responsible for her overcoming her inherent shyness on the dance floor. But his slow numbers were reserved for Mary, who suited as his partner on all fronts. There were plenty of wolf whistles when they finally kissed at the end of one dance, with Sherlock shouting, "Get a room!"

The said man looked more relaxed than she had ever seen. She remembered him talking about the pressures of the job and now that major work was done, she saw him enjoy, the weight off his shoulders. He danced with her during one of the fast numbers, proving to be an excellent partner. They had got over their awkwardness after their last argument and were able to enjoy the event.

It had been a long day and the party eventually wrapped up post midnight. Mrs Hudson was driven to the Inn by her designated driver for the past few weeks. While Sherlock drove away, the rest of the team helped in clearing up. It was a lovely, clear moonlit night and Molly suggested John and Mary take an alternate route to the inn, passing a small stream. Winking at Mary, she knew it would be some time before she saw the couple again.

Reaching home, she made a hot cup of coffee and sat in her backyard, overlooking the moonlit fields and surrounding hills. The entire terrain had an unearthly look, but she loved such moonlit clear nights, rare as they were. Hearing a twig snap, she turned to see Sherlock standing nearby, the said twig in his hands.

"I didn't want to startle you, sloshing that hot coffee on your hands would be painful," he said with a tight lipped smile.

"Thanks, that was really thoughtful of you. Come, sit. It's one those rare clear nights where you can enjoy the outdoors without getting frozen." She gave him a small smile, gesturing for him to sit in one of the chairs strewn about.

His hot beverage was delivered by one of his team members, who he then dismissed for the night. They sat in a comfortable silence, taking in the surrounding beauty.

"I'd never thought I'd say this, but I am going to miss this place. It has a certain charm, a certain 'je ne sais quoi'…it holds you, doesn't it."

Molly smiled as she remembered feeling the same way.

"That's exactly what Tom and I felt. We came here after his first tour of duty and fell in love with this place. We overheard Mrs Hudson planning on selling the inn and retiring. So we gave her an offer and worked it out and the rest, as they say, is history. My only regret…well one of the major ones, is that Tom never got to visit the Glenrowle Inn as its owner."

She had a distant look in her eyes now, he assumed she was thinking about her past and the plans that went awry.

"We had planned to get married here. It would've been perfect, your guests staying in your own inn. No need to travel anywhere further for your honeymoon. We had it all planned."

She paused, staring away. "Some plans just don't work out," she whispered.

Taking a deep breath, followed by a big gulp from her cup, she turned to him, a smile on her face. "Nothing ever happened by dwelling in the past. I have this now," she gestured about with her hand, "I am pretty happy."

"You are one of the strongest people I've had to privilege to meet. And I mean it. You make it all count."

She grinned, "Well, what you've got to do, you've got to do."

"But it's not made you any bitter," he said with a puzzled look on his face.

"Oh I was angry, Sherlock, so  _so_  angry. I didn't even get to see him in the end, he came home in a closed coffin. It was a landmine." She shrugged. "You were right, I  _did_  come here to find solace. And I found happy memories instead,  _all_ of them. I just couldn't leave then, could I?"

She gave him a watery smile and then rubbed her forehead, coughing a bit. "Look at me, getting all sentimental. Over coffee!" she forced out a laugh.

His raised his brow, shrugging in response. They sat in comfortable silence, and she was about to suggest they retire for the night when he spoke, hesitating.

"I was about 25. Had graduated from drama school, was doing the round of auditions. I started getting work, was slowly but surely becoming visible. And then the hit TV show happened. Life was looking good. And then I got this fabulous opportunity. It was Hollywood, so it was big in all aspects. I had some time before the shoot started, so me and Janine, my then girlfriend and a couple of more people decided to travel. We were young and we were stupid, we indulged in some crazy antics that were recorded by someone."

He shook his head, as if it would make things different.

"Next thing we know, our photos were posted all over some tabloid, same day the casting was announced. That very evening, I get a call from my agent, saying I was dropped. You never know how conservative and narrow minded the powers that are can be. And since both the stories were posted on the same day, my getting replaced became tabloid fodder. I was the boy who almost made it. I was painted as irresponsible, airheaded, a liability, a crackhead, whathaveyou."

Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Five years it cost me. I was suddenly untouchable. One mistake and the tabloids ruined my career. I knew it wasn't Janine's fault, she didn't know her words would end up on a tabloid, but the fact is those  _were_  her words on that rag.

"This is a business of rejection. You hear more 'no's here than in any field. And then you breathe a bit when someone says yes. That feeling is majestic. Once you get used to breathing, it's tougher to hear 'no'. I had to start right from the bottom rung of the ladder again. But I clawed my way back, trusting no one, depending on no one. I didn't give a damn if I was isolating myself. I had learnt my lesson the hard way and there was no chance of that error repeating.

"John was the first person I met in ages who acknowledged my talent and he agreed to help me. Things improved a lot after we started working together. I could concentrate on the job and he would handle all the surrounding craziness.

"So yes, I have plenty colleagues but nary a friend in the industry. I have The Work and that's what matters. This is a ruthless place and I do what I have to survive and thrive here. I always move on, breaking off any connection, any link once a job is done. A clean slate, each and every time."

He was agitated by the end of his soliloquy and flinched when Molly hesitantly put her hand on his arm to soothe him. She withdrew her hand and they sat silently, gazing out over the moonlit landscape.

Taking a deep breath, she finally got up and turned to move inside, before saying, "We all do what we have to, to survive. But living  _can_  be about more than just surviving." She smiled at him and bade him good night.

The last breakfast before the visitors left was hosted by Mrs Hudson in her garden, as it was a lovely sunny day. Photographs were taken, compliments and stories exchanged. There was plenty of ribbing between Sherlock, Mary and John, with the manager citing a few incidents related to Sherlock's infamous temper that had them all rolling in laughter. By the end of it, there were pink spots on the actor's cheeks.

"So Molly, now that you have interacted with our resident superstar, would you still say that Tom Hiddleston is your favourite?" John queried.

"Of course," she replied with a mischievous grin.

"Good choice!" John's response was met with loud laughter, Sherlock joining in.

They were almost done eating when John took Molly aside and whispered, "Thanks for suggesting the detour last night. It was a lovely spot and, let me just say, helped clear a few things."

Molly wasn't sure exactly what he meant, but the mystery was solved when John announced his engagement to Mary. A cheer went up and the entire meal ended on a big high, with congratulations and wedding discussions flying around.

Molly sighed happily, knowing that  _this_ is what she would most remember of their entire stay, the happy smiles and shining eyes.

* * *

Things got back into routine slowly, though the residents did miss the buzz. The interest in their tiny village had increased manifolds due to the filming, so the tourist season in Glenrowle was busy and long. The Glenrowle Inn had more inquiries that usual, as now it had the distinction of hosting such an A list celebrity.

It was towards the end of a long and good season that Molly had to travel to Edinburgh. As she was packing for the short trip, she had a thought. Remembering her last conversation with Sherlock, she grabbed her phone and typed out

 _**You said, if I travelled…(Molly Hooper)** _ _._

She sent the text before she could change her mind, but was extremely nervous once the message was actually sent; it  _had_  been almost four odd months since their last conversation.

There was no response, that day or the next. Trying hard not to feel a tiny bit disappointed, she soon forgot about it as she took in the sights and smells of Edinburgh.

She got a response the night before she was to return back.

 _ **Don't joke Molly**_.

She got a laugh out of it, imagining the frown on Sherlock's face as he read her text. She was wondering if she should text him back or not, when her phone pinged again.

_**Where have you travelled?** _

_**How have you been? Hows Mrs H?** _

A little pleased and surprised at his texts, she sat down to respond.

_**Edinburgh. We are good but have been busy. Thanks to you we had a great season.** _

_**Glad I could help.** _

Her phone was silent for quite some time, so she did her packing and slept, having an early bus to catch.

It was morning when she saw that there was one more text waiting for her, which made her grin broadly.

_**Glad you take my word as gospel. You can text me even if you are not travelling.** _

This was how they discovered a way to stay in touch, a text exchanged once or twice a month. Nothing too personal, just letting the other person know that they weren't forgotten.

He sent her a text and she replied.

Her texts mostly went unacknowledged.

Then one day instead of the regular one liner, Molly received a string of messages, in a language she didn't understand.

Her text of  _ **Are you ok?**_ received a one worded response of  _ **Yes.**_

If a Sherlock's mood could be transmitted through the ether, Molly guessed that it was a cutting, terse response.

Similar long texts were received every few days, so out of curiosity she googled the words. Turned out that it was a rant in Slovenian. Complaints about idiots and stupid people, from what the translator page threw at her.

The next such rant was in Turkish. And then Russian.

How many languages did the man know? And why send her these texts?

She later realized that he was on a promo tour of some blockbuster throughout the world, addressing the media and participating in interviews all round the clock. He was venting out his frustration at the lameness of the entire process, using her as a remote punching board.

With his patience, Molly was surprised that at the time interval between rants. She would've expected a continuously beeping phone instead. She thought of John and sent all her prayers his way, the man was graying too fast.

The movie was a huge success and the texts stopped a few weeks into its release.

Her text of congratulations went unanswered.

* * *

Soon the festive season was upon them. There was an increasing trend to spend Christmas in small, rural hamlets to experience the charm. So it was full occupancy at the Inn and Molly had no time to think about anything else.

But she did meet a Norwegian couple, who gave her the idea of chasing Northern Lights. So she made a spur of the moment decision and travelled to northern part of Norway. She was back after about a week, having been lucky enough to see nature paint her colours on the black canvas of the sky. Having no mobile connectivity or access to wifi, interacting with new people and watching the fine display of colours was a refreshing holiday.

She switched on her phone only once she was back home and settled in her bed, with a cup of her favourite coffee.

The moment the device switched on, it started pinging. She had 17 unread texts, all from Sherlock.

Opening the first, she saw that it was rant, about  _ **morons who thought they can write a script because they can put two words together.**_

_**Am surrounded by idiots.** _

_**When these guys talk, they lower the IQ of the whole street.** _

_**Why are you not replying?** _

_**What are you doing?** _

_**Are you so busy that you have no time to even look at your phone?** _

_**Molly?** _

_**Molly!** _

_**Ah, date is it?** _

_**So the car mechanic finally asked you out? Took him a bloody year.** _

_**Hope you are dining in the next village, I know the local pub is run by his mum. It would be cheap of him to take you there.** _

_**Even if on a date, you can read and just reply with an** _ **ok** _**.** _

_**MOLLY!** _

_**That's called shouting, when you type all caps. But how would you know, coz you suddenly have gone BLIND.** _

_**And DEAF!** _

_**Why am I wasting my time texting an idiot like you?** _

_**What if I was dying and was sending an SOS? Tell me, how long did they have to try before the army reached you with your fiance's news?** _

The texts were all dated two days ago, and all were sent at a decreasing interval of time, the last two sent immediately after the other.

She saw no reason for Sherlock to fly off his handle like this. She had found the whole thing amusing till the date message, which was a bit awkward. And by the time she went through them all, she was irritated and definitely angry.

Sherlock was no five year old and she was not his keeper.

 _**I was away, chasing Northern Lights in Norway. SERIOUSLY Sherlock, I do have a life! And this** _ **idiot** _**tells you to piss off.** _

She sent the text, switched off her phone, determined to ignore the git. She fell asleep soon, the long journey catching up with her.

She woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. The time in Norway had been exciting but tiring and the bitter cold had made sleep difficult. She felt more like herself after sharing her experiences with Mrs Hudson over a nice, hot breakfast.

When she finally switched on her phone, there was no text waiting for her. She hated to admit, but she was a tiny bit disappointed but then assumed that if Sherlock did read her response, he might be sulking. Well, tough luck, she thought.

Till a lovely bouquet of flowers arrived at her desk by afternoon, with a small note saying -

**I am sorry, forgive me. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.**

She had her doubts about this being Sherlock's idea, which was confirmed when he texted her few minutes later.

 _**The bouquet was John's idea, I think it's a bit corny.** _ **I** _**was going to call your land line last night and apologise. John said it would be a bad idea.** _

This was followed by another text, just as she expected.

_**Btw, why even bother having a mobile phone if you are going to keep it switched off most of the times?** _

She laughed at his words, for some reason wanting to cry at the same time.

Oh, that man child! She could now never watch him on the big screen without imagining a tantrum thrown behind the scenes.

Not for the first time, she wished she only knew the star and not the person underneath that aura.

_**And chase Northern Lights in rural Norway in winter? Have you even heard of youtube?** _

_**Shut up, Sherlock.** _

* * *

It was Meena Mishra's wedding! Her best friend was going to have a big, fat, Indian wedding, and Molly couldn't wait to experience it. She arrived in the city, thrilled, excited and nervous to face what she had left behind. Taking a deep breath of the polluted air after almost two years, she felt enthralled. London!

The festivities in the Mishra household kept her busy, what with separate ceremonies on different days. There was dance to be learnt, henna to be drawn, her bridesmaid outfit to be fitted. It was chaotic and loud and colourful and she loved every minute of it.

But the big family gathering left Molly feeling a bit melancholic.

What if she never met anyone special again, was her life going to be all about the Gelnrowle Inn? Was it ok to suddenly want more?

The thoughts made her feel guilty, a bit uncomfortable, but she could not ignore them.

Molly spent the day after the wedding lying in bed in her hotel room, recuperating from the exhaustion. One thing was sure; if she ever got married, it would be a small ceremony that would be over in half a day!

As planned, later in the day, she then met her old colleagues from Barts and NSY for a drink, feeling more alive than she had felt in a long time. The DI discussed his latest case that was baffling the police. Which resulted in him asking her to visit the Barts morgue for a consult. The pathologist handling the case was new and the police were desperate for a break.

Molly couldn't have been happier to cooperate!

The next morning as she sat having her breakfast in a roadside café, her phone rang.

"You are in London! And why didn't you tell me!" Sherlock's angry words rushed at her. It was a shock hearing his deep voice addressing her after a year. She was so surprised, she almost forgot to reply.

"Yo-you were in New York! You were supposed to be in New York. I-"

" -so you plan your trip bang in the middle of my schedule. How very convenient!"

"The wedding invite was sprung on me Sherlock. It was quite sudden and I barely go-"

"Yes, yes. Where are you right now?" She could almost see him moving with impatience, as she contemplated giving a terse reply. She didn't like getting interrupted every time she spoke.

"Having breakfast, like people do. Sher-"

"Fascinating! Meet me at-"

"Don't interrupt me!" There was silence from the other end, so much that Molly thought Sherlock had cut the call.

"I am sorry. But if I hadn't called the Inn, I wouldn't have known you were in London." Sherlock said in calmer tones.

"Why did you call the Inn?"

" _Because you always switch your bloody phone off_ , that's why!"

And things were back to normal.

They decided to meet in a restaurant not very far from Barts, Molly suddenly realizing that meeting Sherlock in an open, public place in London was almost impossible. She felt sorry for him, as it was a lovely day to be outdoors.

She reached the swanky eatery first, feeling utterly out of place as she was led to their reserved table. She suddenly had butterflies in her stomach at the prospect of seeing the movie star after more than a year. Taking deep breaths, she tried to calm down, reminding herself that she had seen the man daily in  _her_  Inn, had seen him walk back in mud caked shoes, cursing under his breath and even yell at a cow while taking a short cut through the fields.

The last incident made her giggle, distracting her from the sight of the said man standing at the entrance of the room.

"Some embarrassing memory of mine, I assume?"

Molly almost flew off her chair at the sound of that deep voice, catching herself before she embarrassed herself too much. The amused smirk on Sherlock's face told her that the attempt to startle her was deliberate and, she hated to admit, successful.

There was an awkward pause where they both stood, just looking at each other, before she smiled broadly and moved to shake his hand. Faux frowning, he pulled her into a big hug, holding her tight.

"Wow, you look different," she said when he released her, and she found her voice, with some difficulty, she noted.

"New movie, new look" he replied, that annoying smirk back in place.

He was a bit broader than she had last seen him, his curls longer than usual and tanned like he had been working outdoors. In one word, he looked rugged. And maddeningly attractive. The number of looks he was getting from the other patrons confirmed that it wasn't just her opinion.

Which made things suddenly very comfortable for her; he was used to the scrutiny, and she wasn't the only one gawking. He just shook his head, grabbed a chair and sat down. She followed suit, albeit with pink spots on her cheeks.

Their conversation was a bit stilted initially, but became smooth progressively. He asked after Mrs Hudson, the Inn and also the garage mechanic she allegedly dated, which had her hit him playfully on his arm.

They were interrupted when her phone rang, the DI from Scotland Yard calling her for a consult.

"Er, I need to go somewhere. I am sorry, but this is kind of serious police work," she said apologetically.

"What's the matter? I'll drop you there."

"Oh, I have to head to St Barts hospital, it's just a few blocks away. Lestrade, the Detective Inspector I worked with, needs my opinion on some case. I need to head to the morgue, my old playground you may say."

She expected him to frown or at the most look a bit put off. Instead, his eyes lit up, excitement clear on his face.

"Can I come along? I had visited the Barts morgue a couple of years ago, while I was preparing for a role in a play. I found it to be a fascinating place. I will stay out of the way and will not disturb you in any manner. And I'd like you see what made you NSY's favourite pathologist." He grinned.

She hesitated. It wasn't her work place anymore, and it was official police work. Ok, not exactly, since Lestrade had asked her help as a favour.

In the end, she spoke to the DI himself, asking if she could get the actor along. Just her luck that the cop was a huge fan and agreed as long as she used the hospital rear entrance and the actor stayed out of her way.

They arrived at Barts in no time, having taken a taxi from the restaurant. Molly felt a thrill pass through her the moment she stepped inside the hospital doors, her face lighting up as she remembered her old days. She almost forgot about Sherlock as she strode down familiar corridors, the years away from her job just falling away.

They were met by Lestrade at the morgue doors, where introductions were made and rules laid down. Molly ignored their interaction, instead talking to Dr Sorkin, the new pathologist handling the case. Putting on her gloves and the coat she was lent, they started working on the body in question.

Molly was in her element. This was her field and she looked like she owned it. It was like the other people in the room had disappeared and it was just her and the mystery that lay before her.

Molly really didn't blame the new doctor. The anomaly was tough to notice but notice it she did. She then advised Dr Sorkin on how to proceed further with the tests. It was only her experience and, if she was being frank, her enthusiasm to prove to herself that she  _still_ had it, that confirmed Lestrade's faith in her.

She shook hands with the DI, being promised to be kept in loop about the test results. Dr Sorkin was also asked to consult her in case of any questions he had. She had been in the morgue for more than two hours but time had flown by.

She left the morgue with a bounce in her step that didn't go unnoticed by the observant actor who had tagged along.

They decided to head back to the restaurant to have a late lunch. Molly could barely keep her smile off her face the time they were in the cab.

Sitting down at a corner table, Sherlock started laughing softly.

"You look like you went to the carnival and won all the toys on offer. I half expected you to start skipping any time."

Molly grinned back unabashedly. "Oh it felt good…  _so_  good. It was like the old days. We were a team, me and Lestrade and Anderson and Mike Stamford. The number of hours we've spent in the belly of that hospital!" Taking a deep breath and shaking her head, she added a bit wistfully, "Those were the days…"

"You should come back."

"What?"

"You should come back. To Barts. To London. You should've seen yourself today, you were just zoned out till you found what you guys were looking for. You even shushed me when I spoke a  _little_  loudly while you were observing the body. It was fascinating watching you… you are wasting yourself in Scotland. You should come back."

She smiled a bit too brightly at this.

"Well, Scotland is home now. Glenrowle is home. The  _Inn_  is home."

He tried to counter her, but she spoke over him.

"Can you tell me anything about your new movie? Or is it all hush-hush?"

Sherlock looked at her for a moment, before nodding to acknowledge the change in subject and addressing her question.

"Well it's not exactly a state secret. You would know about it if you go on the internet. It's based on a Tolkien classic. Most of the shoot would be outdoors and it's going to be one long schedule."

"Wow, Tolkien! That's one guaranteed blockbuster right there for you. Didn't think  _you_  would be interested."

"Well, a little change in tune always helps. And the material is good. It's not a movie just for the sake of making money, like half of those big budget monstrosities out there today. This has a story, well sketched characters, it  _is_  fantasy but also very human. And the director is seriously passionate about it."

"Those sound like good reasons to even an outsider like me."

"And the fact that John threatened to murder me in my sleep if I refused to sign this.  _That_  always works."

She laughed out loud at this, imagining the said conversation between the star and his long suffering manager.

"So when do you start shooting? Any Scottish locales this time?"

"Sadly, no. The shoot will be in New Zealand. And I guess it will take about one and a half years."

"Oh my god, one and a half years! In New Zealand! Would you be allowed to travel back anytime between?"

"Well, maybe few days here and there."

"Oh wow. Poor John."

"Poor John? It's me who is travelling, not him! He will be happily spending time with Mary, safe in the knowledge that I won't pop up suddenly to give him a new headache."

She chuckled at the picture Sherlock painted. They spoke some more on his future but temporary move to New Zealand, about Mrs Hudson and John and Mary.

She realized that Sherlock deliberately avoided bringing up the matter of her relocation to London and she was thankful for that.

It was early evening when they broke their little soiree, Sherlock having to attend meetings.

As they walked out of the restaurant, he spoke almost apologetically, "You should expect more than a few text rants Molly. Don't ask why I text  _you_ , but I will continue to do so, till you ask me to stop. And I fully expect be highly bored when not shooting and that is not a good thing for any of my support staff. Frankly, I am surprised that they are still working for me."

Molly smiled, already having thought of the future texts bombarding her phone.

"I vent and rant and…I know it's childish, but that's how I cope. So I apologise in advance but…well, you have been warned. And  _please_  do keep that bloody phone switched on."

She laughed, replying, "Sure, Sherlock. Anything I can do to help, anything at all."

"Well, John has put loads of effort in ' _training me to be more civil',_  his words not mine. But actually," he moved close to her and whispered conspiratorially, "now that I think of it, I would need just one thing to successfully manage the trip down under."

"Is it? Ok, so what do you need?", her eyes growing wide at their proximity.

"You!"

He grinned at her mischievously, winked and sauntered away, waving her goodbye.

She was thankful for his quick exit, as she was able to convince herself that her warm cheeks and skipped heartbeat were just her imagination and had nothing to do with the very personal exchange she had just shared with the star.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, life happened as well as I was unsure how to take this ahead. The last chapter I had to break into two, as it went on and on. I will publish it soon as its almost done. Thanks to writingwife83 and vonpeeps for their support. You guys are awesome.

Molly had two more days before she headed back to Glenrowle, a place that suddenly seemed way more away than merely its geographical distance from London. She had loved breathing the big city air, falling in step with the crowds and dealing with the police work, as she had done in what she now called her 'earlier life'. She felt at home here, and suddenly hated herself for that. She had worked hard to settle in the quiet life of Scotland and wasn't about to let her first visit waste all her efforts.

But she couldn't ignore just how comfortable and thrilling the days after the wedding had been, visiting Barts being the highlight of her trip. Molly refused to ponder the possibility of relocating back to London, something which everyone including Meena, Lestrade as well as her old colleagues asked her to consider. If she was honest, she felt as if she was betraying Tom by even thinking about it and that was a very uncomfortable feeling.

As she visited Tom's grave one last time before she headed back (she had been a frequent visitor during her current trip), she felt slight at unease. She poured out her thoughts without any guilt or hesitation, knowing that she wouldn't be judged, just as he had never judged her when he was alive. She was able to speak out her sudden longing for her old life that she had so readily, albeit hastily, abandoned. The green fields of Scotland suddenly seemed too far and cold.

For the first time she vocally brought up the idea of moving back. And her heart felt light when she actually spoke the words out aloud. It was as if Tom was encouraging her and supporting her in all her decisions she made. Oh, how she missed him in that moment! She teared up and suddenly felt angry at the unfairness of it all. The pain of her loss was never too far from the surface but she felt it rather deep at that moment.

And then the shame crept up. It had been their mutual dream to move out of London and she felt thoroughly embarrassed that the past few days she had been attributing it to Tom alone. How had she become so selfish? Was just one London trip enough to abandon all their plans, their promises? Had it been that long since that dreadful call informing her that her life as she planned, as  _they_  had planned, had been destroyed forever?

And since when did Molly Hooper become so self-centered? And what about the lives of the family she had made for herself in Glenrowle? What about Mrs Hudson? Would she abandon them all? They had been her anchor and her emotional blanket when she had needed them the most. And here she was, thinking of leaving it all. She was thoroughly ashamed of herself and tearfully apologized to Tom. By the time she said her goodbyes, her resolve to forget London and head back to her current life was strengthened.

Just as she left the cemetery, her phone rang. It was Lestrade, the grateful DI informing her of the break through the police made in the case and how her help was the major reason for the same. How it felt like the good old days and how he wished she was still working with them.

There was no denying the thrill she felt at his words, but she stomped out those feelings, instead abruptly ending the call on a flimsy reason. If Lestrade was a bit put off, it wasn't going to be her business anyways.

And then Sherlock called.

She had been  _very consciously_  avoiding thinking about him and their last meeting. He was smart, intelligent, funny and extremely fun to talk to. It didn't hurt that he was more than pleasant on the eyes. But the truth was that he made her feel a tab bit uncomfortable, like he saw something, he knew something about her that she didn't. Or refused to acknowledge.

That and the fact that the last time they met, he had made her heart miss a beat.

He was an A list actor who lived as different a life from hers as was possible and she really did not want to have any more complications in her life. Though she refused to delve on why she addressed him as one.

So she ignored his call, put her phone on silent and instead roamed about the streets that she had once so loved.

Reaching her hotel, she plugged in her now discharged phone and lay wide awake in bed, wishing her last night in London would pass quickly. She was disturbed from her forlorn thoughts by her phone buzzing. She stomped down the disappointment when she saw that it was Lestrade's text, thanking her for her inputs and informing her that the criminal had been apprehended. She chose to ignore the tiny bit of thrill she felt at the news. She was just about to place it on the side table when it buzzed again.

_**What time are you leaving tomorrow?** _

Sherlock! She had assumed (and very honestly, hoped) that he had forgotten about her pending journey. He had a very tight schedule before he flew off to New Zealand and other than the call earlire in the day, there had been no communication between them since their last meeting two days ago.

_**Do you have time for breakfast?** _

She did, as her train was leaving at 10am. But she didn't want to acknowledge that. Nor did she want to refuse him. It was an offer for  _breakfast_ , but suddenly her mind made it more than what it implied.

She finally acknowledged that he affected her, confused her. And she  _really_  didn't need any further confusion in her life. She shook her head at the direction her thoughts were leading, eventually electing not to respond to his text altogether.

Damn Meena and her London wedding! Whatever happened to her grand plans of a beach wedding on some sun-kissed shores? This whole damn London trip could've been avoided.

She overslept! The muddled thoughts of the previous evening making her forget to set her alarm. She had wanted to leave with enough time to have a peaceful breakfast at her favourite cafe, but now barely had time to grab some takeaway. Thank goodness that she had cleared her bills and done her packing the previous night. As she left her hotel worrying about finding a cab during traffic hours, a shiny black two-seater came roaring next to her. It was a Jaguar and as she admired it, the driver's side window rolled down. It was Sherlock, who ordered, "Get in!" She hesitated momentarily, but then put her travel bag in the boot, whose lid had popped up and rushed to the passenger side, the need to catch her train overcoming any surprise. Sherlock roared off even before she had put on her seat belt.

The look on his face was stern, silence in the car as he paid his total attention to driving. In a black polo shirt and blue jeans, he was gorgeous as ever, his eyes a shade of blue that somehow betrayed the displeasure behind his cool façade.

There was surprisingly less amount of traffic and they covered the distance to King's Cross in no time. Sherlock stopped the car and continued to look straight ahead, further stretching the silence. Molly tried her best to find something to break the silence, anything. Just as her brain registered the word thank you, Sherlock spoke.

"Well, in time for your journey  _home_."

He had yet to look at her, staring ahead as he gripped the steering wheel.

All Molly could do was look at her hands in her lap and mumble out a soft, nervous "Thank you" before getting out of the car.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock followed suit, getting out and handing Molly her travel bag from the boot. His fingers brushed hers as the luggage exchanged hands, sending a tingling sensation up her arm.

"I would escort you to your train but that'll attract too much attention. Wouldn't want your face plastered across the rags," his face clearly showed what he thought of  _that_  possibility.

"Oh, don't bother...I doubt…hell, I am  _sure_  I would've missed my train were it not for you," she replied, gesturing to his car and finally looking him in the eye.

Then she paused and her eyes widened. "How did you know I was traveling by train? And by which one?"

He gave her a boyish grin, cockily saying, 'You forget my reputation as a keen observer Molly. You did say that this whole trip was a last minute thing, so I knew that you would fly here for the wedding. But Mrs Hudson is more than capable of managing the Inn for a few days, so there is no hurry as such to travel back plus you are very fastidious about your finances. Hence the train. And you don't want to spend more time in London than necessary, so the first train out to Edinburgh Waverly!"

She chuckled as she shook her head, impressed with his skills and also a bit relieved that the tense atmosphere in the car had all but disappeared.

"Or…maybe I just asked Lestrade," he added conspiratorially in a lower voice.

She laughed out loud at that, glad that his playful side was back. "You are impossible Sherlock!"

"Well, I try…" he shrugged in faux modesty.

She smiled back fondly in response.

Their smiles faded slowly as they continued to stand by his car, watching each other, and something,  _something_  else replacing their earlier camaraderie.

"I leave for Wellington in a few days, and I can't say when I will see you next…though I do wish I had seen more of you these past few days."

"Well, I guess I got busy getting a bit nostalgic about this place, the last few days just flew by." Her response was honest and at the same time guarded.

Sherlock simply nodded before reaching, what she could see, was a long thought over decision. Holding her by her shoulders, he looked,  _really looked,_  into her eyes before saying, "Molly Hooper, you are an amazing, wonderful, brilliant woman. Live your life the way  _you_  want, for the things  _you_  want and not as a dedication to someone else's ideas and memories. You won't be happy or content for long if you do that…and I know that you know it."

Dropping his hands, he gave her a mock salute, called out "Ciao", winked, got in his car and drove off. It was a moment before Molly mentally shook herself and rushed to catch her train back.

* * *

The whole village, the life, it felt different since she'd come back. Some of the villagers she interacted with daily noticed it too, but believed her when she blamed it on a hectic time she'd had in London. Maybe that was the truth; she badly wanted it to be the truth.

She realized now that getting out of the city had been an attempt at dealing with the soul crushing grief at Tom's loss. London looked,  _felt_  different. She was pained at Tom's absence everywhere and so she had done the first thing that came to her mind; she had upped and left.

It was now that she acknowledged that the city had remained the same, was still welcoming. What had changed then was her way of looking at it. She had seen each and every place as a path she had travelled with Tom and now would have to negotiate alone. What she had missed seeing was the wonderful moments, and the clean and pure joy of those happy memories. It  _was_  London that introduced her to the man …and it wasn't the city that stole him.

And of course, that was the place where he was finally laid to rest. She had liked those moments when she had been able to just sneak out and sit by his grave. She had felt close to him, felt at peace, at home.

She had travelled to Glenrowle looking for happy memories, forgetting to look for them in the city itself.

But Glenrowle was home too. After all, a home was made by the people you had around you. And the love she felt and received here was something that she would always cherish. The locals, especially Mrs Hudson had embraced a stranger with open arms, showered her with love and helped her in her attempt to tide over her desolation.

And so she rhetorically tightened her belt and decided to push all thoughts of London away, appreciating and enjoying her current life instead.

Though for the nth time, Molly wished she hadn't offered to help the police. She should've just advised Dr Sorkin over the phone and be done with it. But no, she  _had_  to go and work that case. There were the frequent calls from the St Barts morgue and pathology department. Molly almost felt like Dr Sorkin's professor, the amount of time she spent guiding him. She guessed that the man was happy to have someone to seek advice from, and in the process glad not use his own brain cells. His queries had started from difficult to interesting to mundane to now downright lazy-assed doubts. If a phone call can solve your problem, why bother using your own brain! Molly had to finally speak with Lestrade to get the pathologist off her back.

She refused to blame her irritation at Dr Sorkin's ineptitude on the fact that she had loved her job and had been good at it. And had been proud to be that good. She had a new vocation now, but the constant communication with the current pathologist made her miss her old job a lot. That was one string she was trying to cut and the current arrangement was not helping at all.

And then there was Sherlock.

He continued his previous tradition of ranting in several texts in different languages (she really needed to ask him how many tongues he spoke! Google threw up Elvish as the language he used for his latest rant). He was working hard and so had minimum patience for  _ **imbeciles hired to do menial work that only the brainless could manage**_ **.**

But honestly, it was also an access to his deepest and most personal thoughts. When one evening she went through all his texts (Dr Sorkin had set her up in a specially dark mood), she saw the frustration of a hard working and talented person, raging against what were obstacles put in his path by people failing to do their tasks. And she could relate to that very well indeed. He wanted to do his job to the best of his abilities and if something or someone created obstacles, he raged. Trying to look at it objectively, she almost agreed on all counts. Sherlock was fair in his complaints, and it was not merely the behavior of a pampered superstar throwing his weight around just because he could. And she admired him for that.

But not all the communication this time was rants.

She would've never guessed that Sherlock had a dorky side to his personality, sharing snaps of him making silly faces or simply goofing around. Also he was exploring the New Zealand countryside whenever he could and he shared his experiences in detail with her. His latest tale of being chased by sheep across a meadow and being stuck inside a pig's pen for an hour till he was rescued had her laughing till she had tears in her eyes.

Then there were also those rare texts where shared his insecurities about his career, his disgust and helplessness at the intrusions attempted by the media as well as his frustration at not being able to lead a peaceful undisturbed life. Molly felt that this was the most personal communication he was capable of and was honoured as well as a bit concerned that she was the recipient.

The fact that Sherlock chose  _her_  to be privy to his most private and personal thoughts made her wonder.

They had grown close but most of their interaction had been through a medium, and she wondered how things would be when they actually met in person.

Sherlock had been working non-stop for about four months when he got a break of about six weeks and he informed Molly that he couldn't wait to see London and its traffic and  _ **breathe its lovely polluted air**_ , as he so poetically put it. It wasn't a complete holiday as he was shooting for some tv show but he was going to be home!

So it was a complete shock when one dull evening, Molly turned to lock the office and head out to the village hall that she saw a jeans and leather jacket clad figure reclining in the reception of the Glenrowle Inn.

"Sherlock", she gasped, grabbing onto the door handle behind her. "You almost scared me to death!"

He just gave her his smuggest grin, sauntered up to her and said "Now we can't have you dead, can we Molly? The future of this Inn as well as Dr Sorkin depends on you."

She playfully smacked his arm, grinning in response as he moved closer and hugged her. But he didn't let her go immediately, shifting his grip in a way that suddenly made the platonic hug feel intimate. Sensing this, he let go immediately, having an apologetic smile on his face.

"S-so when did-"

"I hope I-"

They both paused and then chuckled at each other, breaking the tension in the air.

"I was saying, I hope I didn't disturb your plans, you were definitely heading out." Sherlock was the first to speak.

"Not at all. I was on my way to the community center, to check that the movie they have running is going on fine. We recently started a weekly movie night, and tonight its one of your flicks _._ " She grinned, imagining the look on the viewer's faces if they knew the star on their screen was, in fact, amidst them.

"Oh, I'd love to see audience reaction. Mind if I tag along?"

"Not at all, it would be my  _pleasure_." Molly replied, a slight devilish gleam in her eyes.

They walked the short distance, Sherlock sharing details of his temporary break from shooting the movie.

"So what are we watching?" he whispered as they snuck into the makeshift theatre.

"You'll see. Now shush!" Molly whispered back.

"Do you realize how much you shu–…is that…is that what I think it is? Are we watching  _that_?" he sounded horrified.

"Well, it  _is_  Mrs Garth's choice.  _I_ had suggested The Hobbit, but it was overwhelmingly overridden" Molly replied, trying to suppress her giggles.

It was one of his most successful movies that turned him into an A-lister. It had a good story, but also some seriously racy scenes, the  _real_  reason why the women in the village wanted to see it. Even the semi darkness could not hide the red tips of Sherlock's ears.

But soon it was Molly's turn to be uncomfortable when the actual sex scene started. She had giggled at the ladies cheering when the actors on the screen started kissing, but felt her discomfort grow as the scene grew heavier. She was suddenly very conscious of Sherlock's proximity, their shoulders almost touching. She could also feel his eyes on her, but took a deep breath and continued to look straight, which wasn't exactly the better option.

" _That_  is the most awkward scene to shoot and as far from sexy as you can possibly imagine." Molly almost jumped as Sherlock whispered in her ears. She could  _hear_  the smile in his voice, over the giggles and raucous laughter of some of the ladies. She would really have to talk to them about maintaining certain decency while watching movies, but knew that most of them wouldn't care a hoot.

Next thing she knew, Sherlock had grabbed her hand and had pulled her out of the hall. Once they were in the open, he said "It's going to get even steamier and I don't want to see their reactions or hear any of those comments, thank you very much." His trepidation was immediately confirmed when someone from inside yelled at the screen, "You go girl…get his pants off!"

Her irritation at being pulled out of the movie hall all but dissolved at the look of alarm on his face.

Shaking her head and chuckling, she started walking towards her home, Sherlock falling in step with her. Neither felt the need to fill the comfortable silence with words, till Molly suddenly snickered loudly.

"I was imagining their reaction if they knew you were in the room with them just now."

"Oh, there would've been a few red faces, I'm sure." Sherlock grinned back, but was surprised when Molly laughed out loud.

"Red faces, my ass! They would've striped you, for all you know. These old girls look batty and harmless, but they can put a sailor to shame with their dirty talks." She laughed again. "You would've had to fight them off real hard, you know. These Glenrowle women look like kittens but they all nurture their inner tigress."

"Oh, I know that about Glenrowle women," he said moving closer, smiling. "Interesting creatures for sure." That last bit was almost whispered, making her forget the easy camaraderie of a few moments ago and become aware of how close he was standing, the whiff of his aftershave delightfully spicy.

"Is  _that_  how you flirt Sherlock? Still so much to learn!"

Molly turned to look at the source of those huskily uttered words and her eyes landed on another esteemed member occupying the A list gallery.

"Never said I had mastered the art like  _you_  have," Sherlock mocked back. "Molly, this is Irene Adler, a very dear friend of mine."

Irene Adler. Sherlock's ex-girlfriend and source of some intense gossip that had kept Mrs. Hudson and her coterie of friends very busy over more than a few tea sessions. Their most recent bone of contention had been the fact that she was currently Sherlock's co-star and there were more than a few assumptions that their old affair had been rekindled. Mrs Hudson had even offered to show Molly a few discreetly taken photos printed in the rags they religiously (but never openly) read, Molly had smiled and refused, not wanting to take part in any such discussion about the private life of another person, especially Sherlock.

So was there indeed some truth in those words? Irene's presence with Sherlock, in the wilderness of Scotland, definitely aided that line of thought. Was  _that_  the reason Sherlock seemed much calmer, with way fewer tantrums, during his first schedule down under? That had been the observation of one of the most popular gossip sites and Mrs Hudson had been a bit miffed at that.

Looking at the actress now, Molly realized that she was not only very beautiful but had an intense aura around her. An aura that screamed intelligence, smartness and sass; something that warned that she should be taken at face value at your own peril. One word Molly found to describe her was fascinating.

She must've uttered it aloud, because Irene raised an eyebrow and gave her an amused smile. That got Molly out of her temporary stupor and she hurried forward to shake Irene's proffered hand.

"Pardon my manners, Miss Adler. I am Molly Hooper. Welcome to Glenrowle...now I am sure that's one line you mustn't have expected to hear in your life."

"Never say never, Miss Hooper," Irene chuckled. "Looking at the surprise on your face, I assume that my dear man here didn't bother to inform you of my arrival. I hope accommodation won't be a problem, after all, all we need is just one room." Irene almost purred out the last line, the look she threw at Sherlock could only be lascivious.

Molly stared at the two of them, feeling like she was intruding on an extremely personal moment but was completely thrown off at the loud laughter that followed soon after.

"Your face!" Irene gasped out, trying to catch her breath. " _Totally_  had you."

Molly continued to stare wide eyed at the actress, a frown slowly making its way onto her face.

"No one's ever blamed me for playing nice and sweet. But this git here is just too good for me and I would like to keep it that way. A separate room for me please, am still trying to beat the jetlag."

Saying this, Irene turned and sauntered inside the inn, leaving Molly staring at her retreating back. She jumped a bit when Sherlock placed his hand on her shoulder, an apologetic look on his face.

"I was about to tell you but well…she is playful like that, means no harm."

"Well Sherlock, today seems to be the day for surprises! First you, then Irene Adler…just one more and we would have a hat-trick."

The hat-trick was completed the next day, the surprise just not being something Molly would have guessed.

Molly was surprised to see Irene up early the next morning, before any of her guests were up.

"Jet lag. Current body clock must be attuned to Dubai. But at that rate, afternoon nap time isn't too far away either!" Molly smiled, instinctively liking her. Irene had no airs at all, drinking the coffee Molly offered as well as eating a wholesome breakfast. She also admitted that she could relax this easily because they were the only guests at the Inn, a fact that Molly secretly rued.

A couple of more occupied rooms would have been most welcome. But then that was always the case. Atleast she had some occupancy for the whole week, which was a blessing in this lean season. She physically shook herself; Mrs Hudson was going on a vacation later that day and she definitely didn't need to see Molly like that.

And just that moment, the said lady entered the kitchen, rushing up to Molly and whispering urgently, "I think I saw….is that actually Irene Adler having coffee outside the Glenrowle bloody Inn? And is Sherlock here too?"

When Molly nodded, her housekeeper swore under her breath, "Oh dear! And I leave today for my Asian trip. How will you manage? The rumours must be true, why else would that woman follow him here? Are they sharing a room?" Molly couldn't help but laugh at the horrified look in her face.

"No, they are not sharing a room. Sherlock said she is a good friend and they both just needed to relax, their schedule was a nightmare. And don't worry, I will manage fine. You go pack your things," Molly practically shooing her out.

She was helping the actress plan some sightseeing treks around the place when Irene said, "You know Sherlock has zero problems with jet lag, his body clock adjust to GMT the moment the plane touches British soil. But he is  _still_  sleeping. He only does this when he is truly relaxed, which is around people he trusts. And that's a rare phenomenon." Pausing to sip some coffee, she then looked at Molly, her gaze suddenly razor sharp. "I am glad he met you, you know. And very grateful. He has calmed down and that also shows in his work. You are a good influence, Molly Hooper, you really are."

Molly blinked at her words, surprised and at the same time confused at Irene's words. Because the woman definitely meant more than what she just said. She had no time to dwell on it more, as the said man decided to enter the dining room at that very moment.

His looked sleepy but well rested, in a rumpled T shirt and cotton pants. He was rubbing his right eye with the ball of his hand, yawning and the whole picture was absolutely adorable. He looked at home, looked  _like_  home and she almost forgot to breathe.

He smiled sleepily at Irene and kissed the top of her head, wishing her a good morning. His smile broadened when he turned to look at Molly, his face lighting up. And she  _definitely_  forgot to breath and her heart skipped a few beats, when he leaned in and kissed her cheek, whispering a very intimate good morning.

Her face must've shown some her feelings, because his brows almost met, causing a crinkle at the top of his nose. She had a sudden urge to pull him and kiss him. She wondered if Sherlock got a drift of her thoughts, as his face cleared and he smirked slightly, further causing her to blush heavily.

"Look at you two, like kids at a prom," Irene drolled, looking at them fondly. "By the way Sherlock, here is the plan for the day. You walk, I walk and talk and we'll let the whole town gawk."

Sherlock groaned loudly at her, complaining, "Irene, it's too early for this, ok? At least let me have some coffee before your puny bone starts tickling."

Irene snorted at him but Molly actually enjoyed the bad humor, giggling and turning away to get the actor his meal. She then joined them for the initial part of their sight-seeing, pointing out the sites and enjoying the banter. Sherlock's hand seemed to brush against hers frequently as they walked side by side, a tiny smirk on his face. Also while taking a short cut, when he lent a hand to Irene and then Molly to jump down a small wall, he didn't release it immediately, holding on for way longer than necessary.

It was nothing earth shattering, but it made Molly light headed and happy; happier than she had been for quite a while. She was reluctant to leave them, Sherlock actually trying to persuade her using faux-puppy eyes, but she laughed and headed away to help the local vet in a delivery (any medical help was welcomed by the vet during the back breaking busy calving season.)

Dr Reardon was a kindred soul, one of the few local people who had tried to dissuade Molly from leaving London, but had been graceful in accepting defeat. She visited him regularly, feeling strangely comforted by his clinic, even though it was not meant for  _her_  species of interest.

It was a complicated birth, at the end of which both the vet and the ex-pathologist were exhausted but happy. Gratefully drinking the warm soup offered by the cow's owner, they sat talking outside the shed.

"Things were so much better to handle as you were present Molly." Pausing, he carried on, "Don't you miss the hospital? Are you sure managing the Inn is what you want to do? I am sure London is more exciting. And some Londoners too," he added, winking at her.

"No Dr Reardon. I prefer living here, Glenrowle is home now. Besides, the fast paced London life doesn't seem too attractive anymore. This, this feels good." She didn't sound convincing to her own ears.

"If you say so," he sighed. "But you were definitely a wee bit lost when you returned from your London trip. I saw you the day you came back, almost half expected you to pack up and leave actually. Old life beckoned, eh?" he asked kindly.

"There is no old life left. There is absolutely nothing in London that beckons me. This is home now." She suddenly felt awkward, like the good doctor was testing just how much convincing power Molly had in her own decision.

"Are you sure? Maybe no old life, but what about a new life, a new someone? I saw that actor back in Glenrowle. People like him go to the Caribbean or the Med, they don't come to rural Scotland in this weather, unless they are working. And I don't see any crew around." he gently teased, trying to break the heavy air around them.

Molly blushed, reminded of her interaction with Sherlock that morning but parried on.

"Oh Dr Reardon, you are impossible," she responded in tired tones. "Sherlock has become a dear friend, but absolutely nothing more, trust me. We exchange texts, I met him by chance when I visited London, but that's it. That path is a dead-end; and besides, I promised someone once, that this is the life we would have. Just because Tom's not here, I am not packing off. I know you mean well, but I am determined to live here and not go back to London."

"Ok, if you are so sure!"

"Yes I am." She emphasized. "It's all platonic between Sherlock and I and that's all it'll ever be."

Taking a deep breath, the vet looked at Molly, before he nodded and continued, "So next week, my nephew is coming over. I have told you about him, he is a school teacher. Would you mind joining us for dinner?"

She laughed at his invite, knowing that it was a very clever try. But she wanted to stand her ground, so she took the plunge and accepted the good vet's invitation. They spoke some more, before Molly saw the time and realized she missed seeing Mrs Hudson off and so took her leave.

Heading back to the Inn, looking forward to discussing how her guests spent the rest of their day, she was surprised to see a taxi waiting outside. Rushing in, she was met with Sherlock coming down the stairs, bags in hand. He just nodded at her and handed them to the taxi driver.

"Mrs Hudson told us that a group of six called and booked today, they are moving in early tomorrow morning. Both Irene and I need some peace and quiet, and mainly privacy. So we are moving out." He informed her, his tones curt.

Too stunned to say anything, Molly watched mutely as Sherlock handed over the remaining luggage and waited for Irene to arrive from her room. An extremely awkward silence filled the room, Molly suddenly feeling a bit miffed. She understood their need for privacy, but they had been so relaxed that morning. She had planned to spend more time with them tomorrow, but guess it was too late.

She felt like cancelling the group booking but was reminded about her finances.

Looking at Sherlock, she had a sudden urge to plead with him, to make him stay back anyway she could, but swallowed it down. Shaking her head, she turned to see Irene descend the stairs, looking a little apologetic.

"I am sorry Molly. But I head back down under even before he does and I need zero distractions. So, needs must. Though I am absolutely sure we will meet again." Saying which, Irene hugged her and headed out to the taxi.

Sherlock continued to look at her as if trying to decide something. He made as if to speak but closed his mouth and looked away. Finally, sighing loudly in frustration, he just pulled her in his arms, buried his nose in her hair, holding her tight. And the next moment, he had let her go and moved back.

"Take care, Molly Hooper" were the words he said out loud, though she thought his eyes conveyed much more than that. Before she could try and understand what, he waved and gotten into the taxi, which sped away.

Molly suddenly felt empty, and tired, tears pricking her eyes. Shaking her head, she forgot all about her meal and just retired for the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ok, here is the final piece. I own nothing, except my ideas and bad puns. All rights belong to HRH Moftiss. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. A big thank you again to writingwife83 and vonpeeps. It helps to have experts around.**

* * *

There was decrease in communication from Sherlock the next week. Her few texts received curt responses, which finally dissuaded her from texting him further. Then, another week later, photos of him shooting in Cardiff were posted in the gossip magazines that were delivered for Mrs Hudson. Looking exceptionally dashing in a Victorian costume, Molly realized that he was shooting for the TV series and so would be extremely busy.

In the past, they had been texting daily while he was shooting down under, so the increasing radio silence felt extremely deafening. She missed those interactions, missed his at times inane rants. His keen observations and dorky jokes. His joy at things achieved and frustrations at missed targets. He had opened a window to his life for her and she was admittedly unhappy to be shuttered out now.

She finally admitted that she just missed  _him_. A lot. He was never far away from her thoughts and her heart almost ached with the need to see him again.

And that scared her.

So when an invite for a pathology conference at St Barts landed on her desk, Molly immediately registered and confirmed her attendance. She had continued to attend these conferences to keep abreast of the latest approach and technical upgrade in her field.

She had never been more excited to book her tickets to London.

Unlike her last trip, the first person she informed this time was Sherlock. His only response had been a one worded  _ **Details?**_

Arriving in London by late noon, she had an entire evening to herself before the three day long meet would begin. Sherlock was busy shooting, Meena was at work, so Molly met up with some of her other friends. It was as she was going back to her hotel late evening, that her phone pinged.

_**Coffee?** _

It was Sherlock.

Molly feeling a bit emboldened by the wine, sent out a cheeky reply.

_**-Black, two sugars please.** _

_**-Don't joke Molly.** _

She was picked up by a chauffeured Sherlock and they went to the same restaurant they had visited earlier.

"Their coffee is good." As he gave their orders, he sighed and shut his eyes, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Bad day, was it?"

"I've had worse, though this one just got better!" He smirked at her raised brow, leaning towards her before saying, "Colombian coffee does that for me." His face melted into a cheeky grin.

Molly shook her head, smiling. To be honest she was a bit relieved.  _This_  was the Sherlock she was hoping to meet after his abrupt departure.

They conversed a bit about his current work. Once the coffee was served, there was an amiable silence, with both guests preferring thoughts to words.

It was only once they were done that Sherlock cleared his throat, saying, "Molly, I'm having a crazy time with the shoot right now, tomorrow we travel to Cardiff for two days, the weather spoiled the earlier schedule."

"My next three days are packed too. Thank god for free evenings, though." She smiled.

Sherlock opened his mouth as if to respond but looked away, it seemed like he was debating with himself. He then leaned his arms on the table, and asked "Molly, what is this?"

"Sorry?"

"This," he said, gesturing at both of them. "Us meeting inspite of having a horrendously busy day, atleast in my case. And you've been travelling since morning. But still, look at us both."

"Isn't that what friends do," she said, her eyes not moving from her hands where they held the coffee cup.

"No," he was blunt. "I would have postponed meeting any friend of mine in favour of an early night…but still here I am.  _This_  is more like a date, isn't it?"

She was taken aback, before shaking her head and smiling, "But it isn't."

" _I_  would like it to be." Sherlock was serious, his eyes a shade of blue green that was mesmerizing. All of Molly's thoughts flew out of her head, leaving her just blinking in response.

"Look," he sounded a bit cautious. "I don't mean to be pushy. But we could beat around the bush for ages and…I live London, you live in Scotland. It's not exactly a short drive if I have to see you…And I'd like to see you…a  _lot_ ".

The way their last meeting had ended, and their ensuing communication had trickled down,  _this_  was the last reaction she had expected from Sherlock.

Her face must've mirrored her shock, because Sherlock laid his hand on hers and gently squeezed, calling out her name softly.

She almost jumped.

"I…don't know what to say," she mumbled.

"I didn't intend to lay it on you like that. And you don't have to say anything now. But I felt that if I didn't…a wise person once told me that life is too short, so I'm just following her lead. Look, I am travelling to Cardiff tomorrow for a couple of days, just give it a thought."

She didn't speak much for rest of the evening, still processing what Sherlock had said and what it meant. To her,  _for_  her. To be honest, she wasn't truly surprised by what he said, there were signs enough if she were to look objectively. She had seen the signs and had  _chosen_  to ignore them.

It wasn't any romantic notion or a wannabe tragic streak that made her close up in face of affection. She had had too many personal experiences to open her heart easily. Loss of her sibling when she was still small, followed by the death of her Mum. Her father had forced himself to smile and carry on for her, but she had seen the light go out of his eyes after her mum's death and he was never the same. It was almost with a certain relief that she greeted his death by cancer, something that he too had accepted with a smile on his face.

Tom had been kind, gentle soul, subtly breaking down the barriers she created around. He had been patient, he had been loving and she had finally let herself love someone with all her heart. His tragic death in the line of duty had felt like the final nail in the coffin.

But Sherlock was different. He had made his interest clear, his intention clear. He was as subtle as a sledgehammer. He was hot headed, had minimal patience and she had been at the receiving end of his temper more than a few times. But he was genuine, he was fair and he wanted to make the most of their little time together.

She couldn't fault his logic; the ball was literally in her court.

It was after the second day of her conference and she was lolling around Meena's house in the evening when she received a text from Sherlock. It was a photo of him observing an ancient mummified body, along with the text  _ **Newest prop, made with input from Barts pathology department**_.

The wide smile on Molly's face immediately made Meena grab her phone and read the text, keeping the instrument away from Molly's grabbing hands.

"What's this? Where do you  _find_  them? Tom made the most morbid, foot-in-the-mouth jokes and now this one sends you photos of dead mummys!"

"As against live ones?" Molly retorted tongue in cheek, finally succeeding in grabbing her phone back.

"Haha, funny!" Meena frowned. "So, Hooper, you are now receiving texts from his workplace but you haven't said much about your Hollywood star…what's cooking? I can almost smell it from here and it smells  _delicious_ ," a lascivious grin on her face.

"Oh, hold on to your knickers, nothing is cooking. You and your conclusions."

"In  _your_  case, always the right conclusion! I was correct about Tom and I can see from your face that something is up with Sherlock too. Come on, spill it!"

Shaking her head, Molly rolled over, grabbed the pillow and plonked her face in it. She let out a muffled scream, and then looked up at her friend, red cheeks and bright eyed.

"He says he wants to date me…  _me_!"

Meena's jaw dropped and she continued to stare at her friend, whose face was again hidden in the pillow.

"No way!" she whispered. "You're pulling my leg…but then, it's not really surprising is it. Who in their right mind would travel to the back of beyond called Glenrowle for a holiday, when you can travel anywhere in the world? I  _told_ you then, there had to be a very good reason for that….so what the hell are you doing  _here_? Shouldn't you be gallivanting across town with your man?"

"He is not my man, and he is in Cardiff, shooting." Molly's smile slowly dropped and she got a faraway look on her face, Meena shrewdly guessing the reason behind it.

"Oh God, you are in two minds, aren't you? Seriously, Molly Hooper!" Meena grabbed the other pillow and sat next to her, facing away.

"Look at it practically, I live in Scotland, he lives in London an-"

"Screw practicality for a bit. You've always followed your head, just give your heart a chance. And stop assuming from the beginning that things are going to head south. You left this city when you lost Tom, now it's giving you a chance to find love again."

"It's not that simple and you are definitely jumping the gun-"

"Maybe I am. But Molly, give it a go; I know you want to. Meet him, spend some time with him… give him a chance."

Meena turned and lay besides Molly.

"What stops you?"

"I don't know Meena," she responded after a pause. "Guess its return of the 'Once bitten twice shy' syndrome. I know it doesn't make sense, but…oh God; I'm over thinking this, aren't I? I mean he is a great guy…but I feel a bit of guilt…should I feel guilty?"

"Honey, no. I was expecting this, no. Tom was the sweetest man and he too would agree with me. Listen, I understand the hesitation, ok. It mustn't be easy to move on, but you have done such a fabulous job. You were brave enough to up and leave London in a matter of days. You knew what would work for you and you did just that. Follow your heart, it never fails you. And this is home, we are always here for you, whatever happens."

Molly finally looked at her friend and scrunched her nose.

"Oh how I hate you."

"I know, I am fabulous. Now stop mooching around and reply to that fine specimen of the male species. Else _I_  will."

Knowing Meena and her propensity to actually work on her threats, Molly grabbed her phone and replied,  _ **You are welcome ;).**_

Meena just rolled on the bed laughing at Molly's response.

"Oh God, you are seriously ridiculous."

Molly stuck out her tongue and grinned back. Till her phone pinged again.

_**Shoot wrapped, now in the train. Dinner tomorrow?** _

"He is asking me out to dinner, tommorrow!"

"Yes, say yes!" Meena yelled, jumping off the bed. Before Molly cold respond, another text appeared.

_**Will pick and drop you, but can we eat in?** _

He was inviting her to his  _home_ …it felt intimate, but she decided to go with the flow and with slightly trembling fingers, sent an  _ **OK**_.

After attending an interesting final day of the conference, Molly was picked from St Barts and driven to a detached house in Hampstead. She was pleasantly surprised to have John answer the door, haven't seen the man since Glenrowle. Hugging him in greetings, she was about to inquire after Mary, when the said woman appeared, ring on the finger and a slightly swollen belly.

"Oh My God! Mary…c _ongratulations_...I didn't know you were married…and a  _baby_ …this is fantastic, wait till Mrs Hudson hears about it, she would be so thrilled!" Molly enthused, hugging the mother-to-be.

"Oh thanks, honey. We got married this very morning; it was a  _very_  small ceremony. His nibs too was told only late last night, and  _he_  was the best man."

Molly giggled as she was led to a sitting room that was expensively put but still homely.

"Oh I'm sure he wouldn't have been too pleased, he hates having surprises doesn't he?"

Mary exchanged a look with John, before she smiled broadly and nodded. "He wasn't too pleased but he'll get over it."

" _He_  is actually relieved that there was no stag to arrange or speeches to deliver, though publicly embarrassing John…Ah! A missed opportunity…maybe the next time." They hadn't seen the track suit clad Sherlock enter the room where he was greeted by a cushion Mary threw at him.

"Over my dead body", the blond dared him.

" _That's_  one of the requirements…"Sherlock grinned and ducked as Mary threw another cushion at him.

"Welcome to my world Molly." John sighed as he sat down, ignoring his bride and his best friend bantering, and inviting her to sit down. "This is the biggest and the most important day of my life, and the two people that I love and care about most in the world, are right now pillow fighting like five year olds…and one of them is five months pregnant. My life in a nutshell."

Molly's laughter was cut short by a still chuckling Sherlock sitting next to her on the sofa, his arm casually draped behind her on the backrest. She was suddenly very conscious of his proximity; he was sweaty, disheveled and never looked more attractive. But he himself provided the distraction, informing the new couple of dinner at someplace called the Diogenes Club. It seemed to be an exclusive place, as Mary gasped then narrowed her eyes and said, "Mycroft…you actually asked your brother!"

Sherlock scrunched his nose and then shrugged, "Needs must…besides, he owed you a wedding gift. We'll leave in about half an hour." Turning to Molly, he finally addressed her, "Sorry, but the Watsons sprung up their wedding plans on me late last night. So the quiet peaceful dinner I was hoping for is cancelled. We all will head into a noisy, public setting and have fancy, overpriced food instead, _how wonderful_."

"This is the only time John Watson is getting married, so chin up honey," Mary teased.

"Oh, that…that sounds fun. This is a special day and you guys should go celebrate-" She made to get up, gathering her purse and phone, when Sherlock interrupted her.

"Where are you off to? If it's only the three of us, I would stand out as the third wheel…actually Mary would, if you believe the rumours, they'll be wondering  _who_  got married" Sherlock needled the bride, who again threw the cushion threw at him.

Turning to face her, he added sincerely "Stay, please. I'll be ready in a mo'," saying which, he left the room.

"But I'm not even dressed", she weakly protested to Mary, looking down at her cobalt shirt and black trousers which were fine while addressing a crowd of doctors, but definitely not a fine dining outfit.

"No worries, you're looking fine!" Mary's eyes twinkled, as she helped Molly freshen up before heading to get ready herself.

Molly was waiting for the new bride and the rest of the company, when she heard footsteps and turned to see a black shirt and dark-grey suited Sherlock approach her, his curls still wet but in place. She was glad he spoke first, as not a legible word could've left her lips or formed in her head for that matter.

He looked fresh, healthy and so very alive! He was excited, happy and all that positive energy just flowed off him. He suddenly reminded her of Tom; same curly hair, same height, the same joie de vivre.

If he took her breath away, the reasons ran deep.

"Molly!"

She jumped, her focus back to the man in front of her and smiled apologetically.

"Shall we leave?" He asked with a smirk on his face. Molly realized that the Watsons were ready and waiting for her.

As she sat in the car with Mary, the woman turned to her, a slight frown on her face.

"We are not going to a place that frequented by celebrities but there might be some photographers at the venue; the paps have now started haunting these places too. They are a menace who we just can't seem to avoid. Just stay close to me and turn a deaf ear to anything they say. Let Sherlock and John handle it."

Mary was right. Sherlock dropped them a block off but the news of the Watson wedding was out. Though John wasn't a celebrity himself, he was badgered with questions, while a few were thrown at Mary and Molly too, before they were allowed inside the club's sanctuary. As they handed their coats and jackets over, Molly saw an explosion of light and sound as Sherlock arrived.

"That was…horrible…and they weren't even  _interested_  in us. Is it this bad all the time?" Molly couldn't wait to ask as soon as they were seated, her discomfort over her outfit all but forgotten.

"Oh this was nothing unfortunately. You can head to Nobu or The Ivy and actually get blinded. There is a reason why some of my colleagues insist on wearing sunglasses at night, it's become a bloody necessity." Sherlock sounded nonchalant but she could see that he was irritated. "But let's leave discussing my disadvantageous lifestyle to some other day. Today we celebrate."

And celebrate they did! The food was delicious, the setting lovely and cozy and the company was truly wonderful. Molly had never seen Sherlock so relaxed, laughing and joking with the Watsons. She could see the connection between the three of them, the bond of friendship thick and tight. She should've felt like an outsider, but was pulled in all their conversations, till all awkwardness and reticence fell away. The excellent wine helped too.

By the end of it, even before the dessert was served, the Watsons decided to make an early exit, eager to get home. "Oh shut it Sherlock, it's not the sex, my feet are so swollen, I can't wait to get these bloody shoes off and soak my poor feet in warm water," Mary bit out.

Before leaving, she leaned towards Molly and whispered, "Be patient, he's a git, but he's a loving one at that." Winking at Molly's frowning face, she left with her waiting husband.

There was a comfortable silence as Sherlock drove away from the club, Molly enjoying the site of almost empty London streets. They stopped next to a still open coffee shop and got takeaways. Since the night was warmish and the coffee excellent, they walked to her hotel nearby.

"It's been a day of contrasts. From the halls of a public hospital to your swanky private home, from high end food to take away coffee, from being hounded by paparazzi to this," Molly gestured with her hands.

"From being surrounded by people to finally being alone with you," Sherlock added.

Molly frowned at him till Sherlock started chuckling."Sorry about that. I should realize that not  _all_  people find corny romantic dialogues amusing."

She chuckled, shaking her head before asking something that was on her mind since dinner. "How do you deal with it, the constant scrutiny, the hounding at every step, your fans demanding a piece of you? It must be exhausting."

"It is. The fans are fine most of the time; it's the camera phones that get to me. There is never a private moment outdoors. But you can't have it all and I have a frankly fabulous life, so you learn to distance yourself from it." He shrugged.

She nodded slowly, trying to understand. His eyes glittered as he faced her and walked backwards, " _That's_  why a trip to Glenrowle seemed like a perfect getaway. Though unfortunately I had to cut it short-"

"Why did you do that," she cut in. "And don't give me the other guests as a reason, the Inn could have been occupied when you arrived!"

He grinned at her, winking and saying, "Well..."

He turned and walked besides her in silence before adding, "I am an actor and hate to admit but I do subscribe to some amount of vanity. I came to Scotland to spend some time with you...I didn't except you to fawn over me or anything but the fact that you sounded almost nonchalant and dismissive…I didn't like it."

He took a step or two before he realized she had stopped, a frown on her face.

"What are you saying, me being dismissive? When did I ever do that?"

He grimaced and faced her, taking a deep breath, "I came to see you while you were with the vet, birthing that calf. He was trying to convince you-"

"To move back here, yes. He has been saying that since day one."

"Smart chap... Listen, I always knew I wanted see you the moment I landed back. But from what you said to that man, I didn't think  _you_  were clear about what you wanted and -… Well not to add to your confusion, it seemed best that I return to London."

"So you're saying…you wanted to give me space…is that also why there were so few texts, or barely any response to mine?"

"Hmmm...Also a bruised ego to be honest." He pursed his lips and shrugged, looking a tad bit awkward at this admission.

"Don't we all have one…an ego, I mean." She hesitated before admitting, "Thank you though, for being so considerate."

They had reached her hotel by now, both fidgeting like teenagers.

"Well that was-"

"What are-"

Chuckling Sherlock said, "This seems to happen all the time. Anyways…tomorrow? Brunch?"

"I'd love that." She said shyly.

He gave her a wide grin before bending to give her a lingering kiss on her cheek and moving back towards his car.

The next day was spent walking around streets of London, having meals in roadside cafes and coffee in parks. They were interrupted by his fans a few times, but for most of the day, were undisturbed. There was no awkwardness, no pauses and the conversation flowed easily.

They even caught a movie in the theatre, popcorn and all. Molly hadn't done that in ages and she had the loveliest of time. It helped that the movie was a sci-fi flick and starred Tom Hiddleston, a fact that Sherlock didn't hesitate to tease her about, sharing small anecdotes about the actor and the filming process till she was red in the face and coughing with the effort of holding in the laughter. They were shushed more than a few times by other irritated viewers.

At the end of the movie, Sherlock grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the exit just as the credits started to roll, ensuring they weren't caught in the crowd.

Even after they were out of the theatre, Sherlock didn't release her hand. And it felt the most natural thing in the world.

They ended the day with a lovely dinner at a cozy place called Angelo's, where they were seated in a corner almost concealed from fellow diners.

"The owner knows me since I was a struggling actor and was always very supportive. It helps that he is also an excellent chef."

She happily indulged in the delicious Italian cuisine and wine they were offered. It seemed like the perfect end to the dream like day she had had.

Standing outside her hotel  _room_  this time, Sherlock still holding her hand, she managed to mumble shyly, "Had a lovely day."

Sherlock didn't reply, instead moved a step closer, not breaking eye contact. He looked at her for a moment, gave her a small smile before bending and kissing her cheek.

She had closed her eyes, so was not prepared for the light touch of his lips on hers that had her sighing and opening her eyes.

They continued to stare at each other, needing no words to communicate their feelings.

The ping of the hotel lift arriving at their floor broke their reverie, at which Sherlock finally let go of her hand and whispered, "Sweet dreams, Molly Hooper."

As she closed her hotel door and leaned against it, Molly didn't know if she wanted to cry or laugh.

One thing was for sure, the walls she'd built around her heart, had taken a massive beating that day. And if she was being honest, there was no more use for them at all, as she had already lost her heart to Sherlock Holmes.

The next morning found Molly sitting by Tom's grave. She couldn't help but smile at the difference in her demeanor this morning and the last time she visited. The barrage of emotions passing through her made her feel as if she was about to burst. Burying her head in her hands she finally felt gathered enough to put two words together.

"What was that you liked to quote after your first tour, from some foreign movie?  _Have a clean and pure desire and the universe works its ways around to make it come true_ or some crap like that _._  It still sounds corny as hell. But…this morning I met Mike Stamford. And, Dr Sorkin has put in his papers. The post is a junior one but…."

She took a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing, "I accepted the offer. The post, the pay, everything is at a lower level but Mike said he could take care of things…and it  _has_  been more than three years away so...yeah, I am moving back. And I am thrilled, and happy and…nervous. I'll keep the inn for as long as I can manage, but…I'm going to miss Mrs Hudson. And the other old bats. But yeah, I'm coming back to London. Yaaay for me!" She choked out the last part, still smiling brightly.

The decision was made, there was no dithering and the relief she felt at that moment was immense. She spent some more time enjoying the peace and was leaving, when she turned around and addressed the soldier's grave again.

"And yeah, the other reason too. Might have had some influence on the decision. But only  _some_." She gave a playful smile and walked away.

The whole of the day seemed to pass by in a blur before she was meeting Sherlock again for post dinner coffee. The night was cool and they were wrapped up warm, the hot liquid proving the perfect foil against the cold air. Sitting on a bench just outside a park, Molly was itching to share the news, at the same time not wanting to come across as too eager, before Sherlock spoke.

"I leave for the next schedule down under in about a week's time. It has been a pretty busy time and-"

"I've accepted an offer from St Barts!" she cut in, her mouth working before her brain could order her to stop.

There was a pause while Sherlock just stared at her, his face blank. So she blabbered on nervously about the lower grade and pays and logistics in moving back.

And all this while Sherlock didn't move a muscle. She finally mustered up the nerve to shake his arm, softly calling his name.

He blinked a couple of times before saying, "So you're saying…you're moving back to London."

"Yes. It's my old job and I love it…and it's not every day that there's a vacancy a-"

The next thing she knew, Sherlock had grabbed her face and was kissing her. Too stunned to respond, she could only gape at him when he released her.

"Best thing I ever heard, Molly Hooper…music to my ears." He kissed her again, though this time she responded with all her heart, knowing she had made the right decision.

The ensuing mornings were busy, with Sherlock tying loose ends at his side as his departure date approached and Molly working on the paperwork and planning the logistics.

She had broken the news to Mrs Hudson, whose immediate reaction had been pure joy. Molly knew the actual departure from Glenrowle would be bittersweet but decided to cross that bridge later. Her friends in London had been thrilled to bits, especially Meena, who had let out a pterodactyl-worthy screech at Molly's news.

The evenings were reserved for Sherlock, who spent every free minute with her. It was one such late evening, she was sitting on his sofa in front of the fireplace, wine glass in hand, legs tucked under and staring at the flames. Sherlock had his head on her lap and both seemed to be lost in their own thoughts.

"You remember, that evening in Glenrowle, when I had lashed out at you and you whooped my arse?"

Molly, giggling at the memory, replied "How can I ever forget that?"

"I could never get you out of my mind after that. And that morning returning those boots? You looked so lovely…and then you spoke about trusting others and letting them in…Molly, I  _knew_ then that you were special. I think I fell in love with you a little that day."

Molly, who had been running her fingers through Sherlock's curls, froze at his words. He sat up and turned to look at her, his eyes conveying words not yet uttered.

"Molly, I am a ridiculous man who is an arse most of the time. I lash out, I am impatient, but looking at the people around me, I feel blessed." He held her hand and intertwined their fingers. "But never more than when I'm with you."

Her breath hitched at his words. He suddenly looked very nervous, and very young. "What I'm trying to say is…it's not an easy life, being with me. I will be away for ten weeks this time, and if I continue doing good, this is how it's always going to be. Crazy schedules, missed family events, cancelled holidays, weird social life. And of course, the media interest, PR antics…evil necessities of the entertainment world."

He moved closer, holding their hands over his heart. "I just want you to know that its not an easy life. You should know what you're getting into if you are with me. And sadly, its baptism by fire, there is no gradual introduction."

His face was earnest, but tinged with trepidation. "I am very serious Molly. I care about you enough that I don't want to subject you to the tomfoolery that occurs most of the time, so think about it."

She paused, thinking before she placed her hand on his cheek, a small smile on her face.

"I left London looking for ways to deal with a broken heart. I was so busy building walls around it that I didn't even realize when it healed. And that was because of you. So, yes, what you said doesn't sound very nice but then I've seen worse, remember?"

Taking a deep breath, she gathered all her courage and finally said what she had come to realize herself recently.

"I love you Sherlock, with all my heart and I just want to be  _with_  you. In whatever manner I can."

Sherlock hugged her tightly, buried his nose in her hair and whispered, "And I love  _you_ , Molly. God knows I do!"

The kiss they shared was searing with passion, conveying the depths of their emotions and longing. He gently pushed her onto her back, his lips burning a path to her neck, where he nipped and kissed at the pulse point. Molly tugged on his hair, pulling him up to kiss his lips again. He was almost crushing her, one hand pulling at her waist and the other buried in her hair but she felt glorious.

As they finally came up for oxygen, gasping and breathing fast, Sherlock whispered, "Stay." Unable to find words, Molly simply nodded before pulling him down again for another blistering kiss, her very being and soul filled with happiness.

* * *

"Molly, are you ready? We have to leave  _today_  you know." Sherlock called out, impatient to get the evening rolling. 'Coz the earlier you got into the groove the less painful it was.

"I am in the ca-" Sherlock was silenced by the vision in front of him. Dressed in a flowing, yellow creation with her hair made up, Molly looked ethereal.

"You were saying?" she gently teased.

Sherlock placed his forehead against hers and whispered, "You look lovely," amazed at his ability to make her blush, and hers to make him forget his words. Offering her his arm, he led them towards the waiting car.

Arriving at the venue, they were subjected to a barrage of lights and questions, Molly handling the attention with grace and ease.

It was as they were going inside that Sherlock bent and whispered in her ears, "But you look even lovelier in your hospital coat, Mrs Holmes, especially after a particularly interesting autopsy."

People wondered what was said that made Molly blush and laugh out at the same time. The only thing reported was that the couple looked as loved up now as they did just after their wedding, almost a decade ago.


End file.
